


Through Women's Eyes

by DesertVixen



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Canon Compliant, Female POV, Gen, Missing Scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15248178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/pseuds/DesertVixen
Summary: The Trojan War, as seen by Clytemnestra, Helen of Troy, and Penelope





	Through Women's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DianaSolaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/gifts).



When she had imagined her life as queen in Mycenae, Clytemnestra had never imagined loneliness.

She slept alone in her bed, with her king in far-off Troy, fighting to avenge the honor of his brother and her sister.

Her bower was full of servants, her palace full of nobles, but Clytemnestra cared not for their company. She missed her faithless sister Helen and her clever cousin Penelope, the companions of her youth. 

When she looked back on the period when their father’s palace had been filled with Helen’s suitors, she remembered it as the best time of her life. Of course, they had been there for Helen, but she had also known that they could not all marry Helen. Some of them would have to settle for other princesses, and Clytemnestra was a prize in her own right. 

She had not been displeased with her father’s choice of Agamemnon. He was strong and handsome, adept with weapons, and not unkind to her. She had taken her marriage vows happily, and in the beginning, they had been content with each other. Clytemnestra had borne his children and had not complained when his eyes wandered. She was not merely a wife or a lover, but a queen and mother.

Her children had been her greatest joy, and it was the missing voice of her daughter Iphigenia that caused Clytemnestra the greatest pain. She had always known that one day Iphigenia must leave home – it was the fate of princesses to marry as their father decreed, to travel to distant lands – but Iphigenia had not left home to do any of these things. Agamemnon had sent for her, and Clytemnestra had complied with his order, believing that her daughter walked to the marriage altar, not a sacrificial pyre.

She had been so very wrong. Agamemnon had sacrificed their daughter to please the gods so that the Greek army might sail to Troy, to bring back Helen and remove the stain on Mycenae’s honor.

The gods had been pleased with the offering, and the sails had filled with wind.

Clytemnestra’s heart, however, had filled with hate. 

Her hate and loneliness twined together like a poisonous vine, choking her heart. All she could do bide her time and plan for Agamemnon’s return. 

She would make him pay.

*** 

Helen of Troy sat in Priam’s royal palace next to Paris, eating delicacies grown in the garden and drinking wine from the royal vineyards. Paris lounged with negligent grace, seemingly at home in the palace he had been denied at his birth. Prophecy had foretold that a child of Troy born on that day would bring about the downfall of Troy. For fear that he would bring destruction to their kingdom, Priam and Hecuba had given the newborn babe to the chief herdsman, so that he might kill the child. The herdsman had also been unable to kill the baby boy, and had exposed him to the elements, so that nature might do what human hands could not. 

After the passage of years, Paris had taken his rightful place as a Trojan prince. He had come to Mycenae and spirited her away from all she knew. She had gone with him, had allowed him to seduce her away from her rightful place.

She wondered, as the war raged around the city of Troy, as men who had once sought her hand in marriage sought to break down the walls that surrounded her, if her own story would end here. The war had already raged for what seemed like forever, and Helen feared that even the strong Agamemnon would not be able to restrain the Greek army from destroying Troy once those walls were breached. 

Helen wondered if she would die along with Troy, if the men who were supposedly fighting to bring her back to Mycenae, to erase the shame and dishonor of Menelaus would even protect her when they stormed the city. 

Helen knew in her heart that the Greeks would be victorious – how could they not? All of Achaea’s finest warriors and princes surrounded this place.

She wondered if she would die as Helen of Troy, if all of history would remember her as Helen of Troy instead of Helen of Sparta. She wondered if she would ever be forgiven for the crime of running away with Paris.

She wondered if she would ever see her home or family again, if they would even welcome her. Sometimes, Helen thought that she would have gladly traded all her beauty for a simple life.

Sometimes, she thought her beauty was only a curse that harmed everyone around her. She wished she could go back to the days before her father had chosen Menelaus as her husband, to the days when she had been carefree. Even within the walls of Troy, they had heard of the story of Agamemnon’s sacrifice, knew that he had chosen to sail to Troy on winds that sprung from his own daughter’s blood. 

Helen knew that Clytemnestra probably hated her now for that loss.

She could not blame her sister for that.

*** 

There were only so many things that a woman could weave, Penelope reflected as she sat at her loom. Odysseus had been away for far too long, and the news that traveled to Ithaca from Troy was often contradictory and unbelievable. She had to trust that her husband would be able to keep the situation under control.

Her thoughts often turned to her two cousins, Helen and Clytemnestra. How happy they had been in the days when they were princesses, girls with few responsibilities! Now they were all three queens and mothers, weighed down with heavy responsibilities. 

Penelope’s heart ached, thinking of Helen all alone in faraway Troy. Even if she had chosen to go with Paris and leave Sparta, Penelope was sure that her cousin had come to regret that choice. Unfortunately, she was not the only one. How many women in Achaea cursed her for that choice, cursed Helen for being the reason for a conflict that kept their husbands and brothers in a faraway land?  
The capable fighting men had gone, leaving the women with fatherless sons and men not worthy of the title.

Her heart ached for Clytemnestra as well. It was one thing to have their husbands gone away to war, but Clytemnestra had been tricked into sending her daughter Iphigenia to her death. The very thought made her look across the room to where her son was sleeping. Small Telemachus, whom they had placed in the path of his father’s plow to prove that Odysseus was only pretending to be unfit. He had conceded defeat and gone with the Greek army, but at least he had left Penelope with their son and his promise to return. He had not gone to war with his son’s blood on his hands. 

She could only hope that it would all end soon. Until it did, she would keep her hands busy at her loom.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I like to focus on the female POV so this was right up my alley.


End file.
